dmseay

I’d watch him drink all evenin’ long at Henry’s Tavern over by Pearl Street…he’d buy me shots of rye…hated to drink alone…hated to drink alone…

and we’d sit in that dark bar ’til the moon came out and made Main Street glow…talkin’ ’bout dreams of goin’ to Venice…New York City…checkin’ out museums in Paris…the little man dreamed big…was always dreamin’ big…

everyone in that bar knew him…he was a local hero…a real character…they called him Little Dave ’cause of his height…always wore hats to cover his baldness…with piercing eyes and always smilin’…Little Dave smiled more than anyone I ever knew…tossin’ ’em back and talkin’ of H.G. Wells…Ali…The Rolling Stones…and always some documentary he’d seen on PBS…

the little man knew peace…a real sitting Buddha…knew history…art…literature…and women…he’d raise his glass to women…always in search of beauty…and to him…it was all beauty…

Dialogues https://www.amazon.com/dp/1727675045/ref=cm_sw_r_other_apa_5MCTBbM2AJ1DJ

looking through window blinds at two in the mornin’ with memories of you runnin’ through my head…

I laugh at the way life used to be…love…what I thought was love…never was love…just two lonely people in love with the idea of love…

thoughts of mornin’ walks and moonlight strolls…car rides through country sides…kissin’ in front of a fireplace on a cold Winter’s day…takin’ turns makin’ dinner…dancin’ in the kitchen to songs of our youth…dreamin’ that these dreams would come true…one day…one day…

and this is what we wanted…to awake intertwined…a love affair to last a lifetime…bottles of wine…Sunday brunch…a dog named Floyd…was this love…was it…what did it matter…nothing lasts…

hey girl…don’t kid yourself…, I said to her…, listen…we’re all going to die alone…and that you can count on…that you can count on…

and she went her way…and I went mine…

winding down the days of September…with windows open and a cool night breeze blowing through the house…storm clouds over head…a purple shade colors the midnight sky…while cars drive by…red tail lights glow in the dark…cops cruise Harrison and South Calhoun…looking for mischief in the night…the hookers and holders…pimps and johns…staggering drunks making their way home to bedrolls under the bridge at Baker Street…over at the bus station big blue Greyhounds pick up and drop off weary travelers…for some it’s home…and others see it as just another town to try their luck at again…

and in the town square on benches by a fountain…junkies shoot up…crackheads under trees blaze up…the smell of spice waves through the air…a young lady baths in yellow lit water amongst dead birds…golden piss…and brown leaves…she makes her living on her knees…

but…I am safe…sitting in my sun room with the cool night breeze blowing…writing poetry and listening to bop jazz as hours go by…and the city waits for another morning to arrive…

it is all we ask for…

he drove to the outskirts of town and parked it…an old Chevy amongst the pines…elms…and oaks where deer ran in the Fall…hoot owls questioned…youngsters lost innocence…empty beer cans led to a patch of green down by the river…

turned off the engine and kept the radio on…Wichita Lineman by Jimmy Webb was playin’ on an A.M. station in Louisville…turned it up so nobody could hear him…always had that fear of bein’ caught…even when not a soul was ’round…

the old man hummed along as he sat in the mint green hood of the car…lightin’ an Old Gold with a brass Zippo lighter…made a sound when he flipped it open and closed it…puttin’ out the flame…suckin’ in nicotine and night air…felt the crease in his John Deere hat…continued singin’ along…

a silver flask was pulled from the inside pocket of a black leather jacket…took a quick shot of old rye…thought ’bout when he was younger…not a boy…nor a man…somewhere in between…takin’ girls to this very spot and drinkin’ cans of Schlitz and pops of schnapps…and by the end of the night they’d wind up pukin’ their guts out…kisses of salt and sweat…

and he remembered those days while Gordon Lightfoot sang ’bout a ship goin’ down and the loss of life…it was a November night…just ‘fore Winter…he thought of those days…thought of better times…times when he was indestructible…nothin’ could hit him or harm him…

those days went by quick…too quick…felt he got cheated out of somethin’…the whole deal was unfair…wanted to start all over and do it again…those were his wishes…

so…he took a drag off the cigarette…threw back a shot…and moved on to the next life…

I’d watch her in the kitchen…dancin’ round to some old song sung by Chet Baker…she’d sing along too…while meatloaf was put in the oven…potatoes boiling on top of the stove…bread sliced…

and momma would set the table…forks to the left and knives to the right of plates with pictures on ’em…sketches of green pastures with red barns off in the background…a napkin lay atop in a tent like shape…

glasses were placed on the right side too…except pa’s…he was a lefty…she was always accommodating…filled with iced tea and lemon…a sugar bowl down by daddy…he liked his sweet…

the potatoes were drained in the sink and she’d call me in to mash ’em up real good with an old ricer…making a concoction of potatoes…sour cream…salt and pepper…and garlic…with mom’s final touch of dill weed…

it was evenin’ dinner…prayers were offered up…Chet was turned off…and silence prevailed with the ever so often requests of pass this…pass that…please and thank you was always said…always said…

the kids cleaned off the table and washed dishes as mom and dad watched the nightly news with John Chancellor and David Brinkley…stories ’bout wars in foriegn lands and hunger in Africa…some dictator was toppled…

the old man ate his ice cream with Pepsi poured all over it…and mom sat on the couch foldin’ clothes…she was always foldin’ clothes…while kids played outside ’til streetlights came on in a blue hue…daddy didn’t have to call…we knew the rules…

then one day it was over…no more dinners…no more playin’ in the streets…things came to a halt…highways became my home…the constant leavin’ from one town to another…with collect calls made to a home back in the Midwest where evenin’ dinner was bein’ made…choices we make…

you saw it comin’…how could you not…she was always that way…makin’ up stories…stayin’ out late…hittin’ the bars…just a matter of time…

she was never one to be trusted…that’s for sure…heard she was sleepin’ with married men…draggin’ ’em away from their wives…their children…a real home wrecker…that’s what she was…

but…she had this way ’bout her…a sweet side…a caring personality at times…like she was really interested in what you had to say…maybe it was all fake…just a way of gettin’ you to confess your sins…no-one likes to be alone in this world…

and…she didn’t leave you a note or nothin’…came home to an empty closet…raided medicine chest…no car in the driveway…

you poor son-of-a-bitch…hope this teaches you a lesson…keep your eyes open always…even if it means you lose sleep…keep your eyes open…

he would lay in bed all day sometimes…just thinkin’ of her…the way things used to be a long time ago…

thoughts of crisp Autumn mornin’s and walkin’ the leaf filled Montpelier sidewalks…kids baggin’ the scatterin’ of colors…reds…rust…oranges…and golden yellows…

would walk through town hand in hand as old pickup trucks drove by on the cobblestone streets leadin’ the way over wooden bridges…past taverns and diners…bookstores…the county courthouse…churches with copper steeples…a library built in the 1800’s…

and he thought of her red hair and green eyes…sweaters she’d wear…kisses on corners…walkin’ through farmer’s markets on Saturdays…the smell of Apple turnovers…

he’d lay in bed and think of those times…of her…of Montpelier…

and he drove ‘cross America in a manic state…behind the wheel of an old mint green Dodge he’d bought from a priest…it was a good deal…priests never lie…

got it for $500 and one holy sacrement…God only knows what unholy things would take place in it…the running into America in search of love…lust…carnal knowledge…six packs and twelve packs and twenty-four cases…in cities like Chicago…New York…D.C. …Philly…parked under street lights listening to jazz on the local public radio stations while cigarette smoke fills the air and bums walk by askin’…, do you have a light…could you spare one…I’m very hungry…how ’bout a buck or two…

and he gives and gives and gives til he can’t give no more…’cause that’s what Jesus would do…so he follows the commandments right down to a tee…sharing his wine and bread with those who need…wine and bread…the hungry…the drunks…the poor…those that chose other options than the straight path…knowing that these are the people…God’s chosen people…taking them into his arms and comforting them from a world that mocks and hisses at them as they walk down the street…for these are the ones that need love most…

so he drives past cornfields in Indiana…Illinois…past power plants in states where it would seem as though God gave up on the people…brown cornfields…crops shrinking…begging for rain in the hot Summer sun as children sell newspapers on street corners of small town America and moms make cornbread in black iron skillets with bacon drippings and a hamhock split four different ways…every little bit is eaten and no-body dares to ask for more…

then he goes into the South…Texas…Arkansas…Mississippi…sweet smells of alfalfa linger in the air while poor Mexicans pick and pull cotton with their shirts off as sweat rolls from their brown skin…women at home making tortillas…tamales…beans and rice…making the most of America…the land of the plentiful…a place where dreams come true…

his journey will never end…an on-slaught of feeding the poor…clothing the naked…praying with sinners in the streets…the fields…backroads…on mountain tops reaching to a father who knows best…and knows the souls of us all…in a land called America…

she wanted to be a cheerleader…kind ya see on TV with short shorts and high boots dancin’ on the 50 yard line at half time…makin’ men whistle and carry-on like wild savages set loose in the woods for the first time…hoopin’ and a hollerin’…yellin’ out profanities…she wanted that…

and she’d flip ’round the channels every Sunday to see ’em…blondes and brunettes with deep cleavage and their hair styled just right…smilin’…always smilin’…she wished she could smile…

was a cheerleader in high school…dated a football star who was the father of her child…got pregnant in the winter after her senior year…didn’t listen to reason…mom and dad told her to give it up for adoption…said she didn’t know what to do with a baby…the raisin’ of a child…just wouldn’t listen…

so she took off one night…had some money saved from workin’ at the DQ…not much…just ‘nough to make her way to Dallas…she had dreams…

and she gotta job at ‘nother fast food place…Big Earl’s Barbeque out on Henry Hines Blvd…told everybody back home that the job was just temporary…get her through the rough times…till she had the kid…they didn’t know what to believe…

she’d eat barbeque every night…worried ’bout her weight but the kid inside demanded more…so…she ate and ate and ate ’til she was ready to pop…and one night she did…

had the child in September at the start of football season…a little girl she named Riley…decked her out in a little Cowboys cheerleader out fit…she was proud of her darlin’…wanted her to grow up to be somethin’ special…special…

those dreams she had of bein’ a cheerleader were startin’ to fade with every pound she put on…she’d hide her pain in piles of barbeque…French fries…and large chocolate shakes…baby’d be in bed asleep and she’d stay up watchin’ the Monday night games just a weepin’ and ballin’…blamin’ herself for her dreams gone wrong…all wrong…

you can still catch her every lunch hour at Big Earl’s Barbeque…servin’ up the finest tomato based Texas que in town…she’d hide out by the dumpsters with the Mexicans smokin’ cigarettes…after her shift…one of ’em boys asked her to marry him…bought her a ring and everything…promised her the world…

she said no…she’d given up on her dreams…given up on cheerleadin’…given up on bein’ loved…